


A for...

by crossingwinter



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, F/M, Masturbation, Passover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-01
Updated: 2019-04-01
Packaged: 2019-12-30 12:08:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18314981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crossingwinter/pseuds/crossingwinter
Summary: Rey’s seeing double by the time there’s food on her plate.  Oh.  There’s food on her plate.  That’s good.  That’s unexpected at this point.  “Eat,” Ben tells her.So she does.  It tastes good.  Very good.  She likes this food a lot.“I’ll make sure she knows,” Ben says.Oh she’s at that point of drunk where she’s just saying things out loud instead of keeping them in her internal monologue.“You are,” Ben says, looking very amused.She hopes she doesn’t say anything embarrassing.“I promise, you haven’t yet, but oh boy, I’m looking forward to this.”She shoves food into her mouth to keep herself from thinking out loud about his dick in her ass at his mother’s Passover seder.





	A for...

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LoveofEscapism](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoveofEscapism/gifts).



> For Rebecca, who requested an entire month of anal sex following [my porn month](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17622032/chapters/41546528), but is only getting this oneshot. 
> 
> I’d like to thank Aaron Sorkin because, _The West Wing_ ho that I am, I jacked the first line from him. Though admittedly with a remarkably different subsequent plot.

“You can find it in your filing cabinet.  Under A. For anal.”

Kylo Ren storms from her office, and Phasma smirks at the bullpen.  “Nothing to see here,” she purrs, content.

“Do you want to know what he can find in his filing cabinet under A for anal?” Finn mutters to Rey.

“Not particu—” she begins.  Ren is marching towards them, his face a mask of fury but in that one moment, they lock eyes and everything changes. The fury fades, and his face gets a little bit redder and Rey feels herself swallowing.

_ A for anal. _

No she doesn’t want to think about that—they’d just gone through a sexual harassment prevention training, she doesn’t want to think about—

 

-

 

But she finds she can’t stop.

Rey doesn’t think about anal sex—at least not where she’s involved with it.  She’s heard Finn talk about it. A lot, really—ever since he and Poe got together.  She’d helped him research proper ways to prepare and everything because he’d never had anal before and wanted to make sure he knew what he was doing.  

But for her?  

That felt like putting the cart before the horse.  She’d had vaginal sex a few times—a  _ very _ few times—and not once had it really felt good.  She’d wanted to make it feel good before shifting to something like anal.

Maybe that’s just naivete.  Or patriarchy, as Rose would undoubtedly tell her—the glorification of heteronormative vaginal sex at the expense of other perfectly legitimate ways of giving or receiving pleasure.  

And while she doesn’t think she’d have any trouble asking for what she’d want in bed, there’s the simple fact that she has to feel as though someone would actually want her enough to have sex with her.  She’s working on that one a lot in therapy. And she is making progress—hence her minimal but not non-existent sexual history. But anal feels as though it’s so far down the road that it’s over the horizon.

And yet she can’t stop thinking about it.

 

-

 

She does what any self-respecting person with curiosity about a new sexual activity would do: she goes to Pornhub.  And oh boy, can some women put things in their asses. Rey’s frankly impressed by the one with the baseball bat.

_ Ok,  _ she thinks.   _ Ok.  I can do this.  Ok. _

Maybe not with a baseball bat, but she can definitely give it a shot.

 

-

 

The thing about masturbating, Rey has found over the years, is that it really gets a bad wrap.  Like, she likes masturbating way better than she likes sex. (Her therapist has thoughts on this.  But considering that it had only been after she’d started therapy that she’d started masturbating at all, she thinks that that’s progress.  And, to be fair, so does her therapist.) Masturbating means she climaxes, means she pushes herself, means she is giving herself a little love, something she has been historically terrible at because her parents made her feel as though she had no value, so why should she set value in herself?  “To love oneself is the beginning of a lifelong romance,” someone in some play that Leia had dragged her to had said, and when she masturbates she sort of feels like she’s kicking off a lifelong romance.

The first time she tries sticking one of her dildos—not a vibrator, just a regular old silicone dildo, the first one she’d ever bought, actually—up her ass, it hurts.  Not enough lube, and definitely not enough preparation of the muscle. The second time she tries, the angle is bad and then Finn starts texting her midway through and she can’t reach her phone to mute it so the vibrations from her bedstand keep distracting her. But the third time—

Well, third time’s the charm.

 

-

 

Ok, so Rey likes anal.

A lot, as it turns out. 

She gets herself good lube, and toys that are shaped more for anal than her trusty old silicone dildo.  She uses a bullet vibrator on her clit as she plays with her ass and pleasures herself until she actually feels a bit like she’s flying.  It feels great. It feels  _ really _ great.

Which is why it’s startling to her the first time that she imagines Kylo Ren’s face when she comes, two fingers in her cunt, silicone up her ass, and her vibrator resting lazily on her clit.  He sort of bursts into her mind, his eyes blazing, his cheeks flushed, and her eyes roll into the back of her head and her back arches because it’s like he’s there with her. She knows he’s not, but it’s like he is.  

And it’s the strongest orgasm she’s had to date.

Which is a problem, because she  _ works _ with Kylo Ren.

 

-

 

Except, on Monday, she finds out that she doesn’t.

“He quit,” she hears Mitaka say by the water cooler.

“I heard he was fired for throwing his computer out a window,” Thanisson replies.

“What an inspiration to us all,” Finn mutters because Rey can count the number of times Finn wanted to throw his laptop out the window on more than one hand.  She’s had to talk him down twice. Luckily, the other times, he’d talked himself down.

Regardless, Kylo Ren doesn’t work at Galaxies LTD anymore, which means that Rey doesn’t have to feel like she’s being unprofessional when she imagines his face while her ass is full of sex toys.

 

-

 

Which it turns out she can’t stop doing.  His face fills her mind as she brings herself to climax more times than not these days—even when she’s not putting things in her ass.  He’s got intense brown eyes, and a scar she really wants to know the origin of, and lips that she imagines sucking on—not just her nipple—but her whole goddamn breast.

Her therapist thinks this is progress.  Sex is a human need, and one that Rey hadn’t allowed herself to approach for so long, intent on such basic needs as food and housing for most of her life.  And imagining sex with someone else, even in fantasy, is more than she’d even allowed with her miniscule repertoire of sexual partners. 

So she tells herself it’s not weird, when she shoves three fingers inside herself and moans and wonders if this is what his cock would feel like.  She tells herself it’s just her, exploring herself, her wants, her needs, in a safe environment. In one that won’t ever catch up with her.

 

-

 

But of course it does catch up with her—specifically at Leia’s Passover seder.  

Rey’d gotten invited and she’s over the moon.  Poe has been talking about Leia’s seders for years now, and Rey hadn’t actually expected to be invited to one.  She hasn’t been invited before now, after all, despite an increasingly close relationship with Leia. Leia’s taken her to plays, to museum exhibits, to all the sorts of cultural things that Rey had grown up thinking  _ people really do this for fun?   _ They do, and it turns out, Leia Organa is one of them.

Rey arrives at Leia’s house at precisely the time that Leia called the meal, and when the door swings open to admit her, there’s Kylo Ren staring down at her.

She blinks.

It’s been a while since she’d seen him in person, but she’d thought about him not five hours ago as she’d been jacking off because that’s a thing she can do on Saturday afternoons.  

He looks less angry now.  His hair is longer, and has it always been that soft looking?  Oh this is bad she’s going to imagine pulling it the next time she—

“Hi,” she says, her voice sort of squeaky.

“Hi,” he says, stepping aside.

“Long time no see,” she says.  God she’s a real conversationalist, isn’t she?  Except no, no she doesn’t do that anymore, put herself down.   _ Treat yourself the way you treat your friends.   _ But god is it hard to form words when she’d imagined his tongue literally shoved up her vagina.

“Yeah,” he says.  “That place was bad for me.  It’s bad for everyone. You should get out.”

Rey laughs but he doesn’t.  He’s dead serious. Have his eyes always been like that, like he’s concerned for her wellbeing?

“Well, if you’re offering me a job,” she replies.  

“Nah,” he says.  “I don’t have one right now.”

“You don’t?”  He’d been such a workaholic at Galaxies.  

“No,” he says.  “It was killing my soul.”  

“How do you know Leia?” Rey asks.

“She’s my mother,” he shrugs and very luckily steps aside to let her into the house so he doesn’t see the look of shock on her face.

He leads her to a living room with nice bay windows and a bunch of guests, most of whom are chatting.  She recognizes a few of them through Poe, but most of them are strangers, friends Leia’s known for years, undoubtedly.

“Want something to drink?” Kylo asks her.  Oh god this is going to be bizarre. She’s at Leia’s house for Passover, and Kylo Ren is her son and she’s been imagining him doing filthy, filthy things to her while she’s masturbated for months now.  And he’s being polite to her. Which, to be fair, at work—before he left—he always had been. Sometimes he’d even smiled at her, which had been weird because Kylo Ren does not smile ever. So maybe all this isn’t wholly out of character for him?  Especially since he’d said the place was killing his soul.

“Yeah—what do you have?”

“I’d recommend starting with a soda.  We’re going to give you four cups of wine before you eat anything.”

Rey’s eyes go wide.

Because she’s a lightweight, and everything just got a little more dangerous.

 

-

 

He goes by Ben, actually.  That’s his legal name. Ben Solo.  He’d changed it back since he quit Galaxies.

Ben Danger Solo.  Dangerousolo. Dangerlo.  She’s drunk.

Drunk and sitting next to him, petrified that everyone else will see just how drunk she is and she’ll be thrown out of the seder, an embarrassment to everyone everywhere.  

She follows along as best she can and resists groaning when Ben pours more wine into her cup.  “You don’t have to drink it,” he tells her. “We have grape juice.”

Except she really really does.  Because Ben’s realized she’s drunk and anxious about how drunk she is, which means it must be really obvious.  Especially because she just noticed how big his hands are and wants to feel them on her ass, god she’s going to imagine his hands on her ass, stroking at her hole, teasing her, holding her close and never letting her go.

Ok she doesn’t mean literally.

But that wouldn’t be so bad, would it?

They read about four children and talk for an ungodly amount of time about interpretations of a story they all seem to all know except for Rey and she really wants to know when the food’s coming, but there’s more wine first!  Oh good!

Rey’s seeing double by the time there’s food on her plate.  Oh. There’s food on her plate. That’s good. That’s unexpected at this point.  “Eat,” Ben tells her.

So she does.  It tastes good.  Very good. She likes this food a lot.

“I’ll make sure she knows,” Ben says.  

Oh she’s at that point of drunk where she’s just saying things out loud instead of keeping them in her internal monologue.

“You are,” Ben says, looking very amused.

She hopes she doesn’t say anything embarrassing.

“I promise, you haven’t yet, but oh boy, I’m looking forward to this.”

She shoves food into her mouth to keep herself from thinking out loud about his dick in her ass at his mother’s Passover seder.

“Did you quit or were you fired?” she asks him, her mouth full.

“It was a mutual agreement,” Ben replies.  He looks like he doesn’t want to talk about it, but Rey doesn’t care, so she asks,

“Was it because you threw a computer out the window?”

“I never threw company property out a window,” he replies.

“That’s good.”  These potatoes are really delicious.  Perfectly salted. 

“I’ll get the recipe for that.”

“Quit reading my mind.”

“Keep your thoughts to yourself.”

She puts more food in her mouth.  Food will help her sober up.

 

-

 

And it does, but not enough.  She thinks she’s managing to keep her internal monologue in her pants now, but she still sways a  _ lot _ when she gets to her feet to use the bathroom and for some reason Ben gets up too and walks her there like some chivalrous someone or something.

“I can pee by myself,” she tells him.  

“True, but I’m not sure you can walk,” he replies.  His hand is on the small of her back. It feels warm, and comforting, and she wishes it would go a bit lower.

She pees, and washes her hands and throws water on her face and when she leaves the bathroom, he’s standing there, staring at her like he’s been in shock for twelve minutes.

“Did you mean that?”

“Mean what?”

“That it felt warm and comforting?”

Oh great, she doesn’t seem to be out of internal monologuing aloud just yet.

 

-

 

She can’t look at him, she can’t look at him, she can’t look at him.

Except, as people are leaving—past midnight wow this thing went long—and she’s about to call an Uber, he says, “I’ll give you a ride if you like.  You’re not too far from me.”

Rey looks at him warily, and he rolls his eyes.  “Fine, shell out forty bucks for a rideshare at this hour.”

He has her there.  

Which is how she ends up in the front seat of his car, her arms crossed over her chest, staring out the window.

She’s definitely sober now.  And a little bit hungover because she did not have enough water during that seder.  God this is going to be the most awkward car ride of her life.

“Did you mean it?” he asks her after about five minutes.  She hadn’t replied earlier because she’d been drunk, surprised, and scared that she’d tell him she wants his hands on her ass and his dick there too.

“That it felt warm and comforting?”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah,” she says.  “It did.”  _ But it doesn’t have to mean anything, you don’t have to want me or anything, I know I’m not worth it, even my parents thought so. _

Tears prickle at her eyes and she looks out the window.

“People don’t usually think I’m warm and comforting,” he says.  “I’m not exactly the definition of a nice Jewish boy.”

Her eyes are still prickling but there’s something in his voice that makes her look at him.  His eyes are trained forward, there’s a guarded expression on his face and maybe it’s just the street lamps that make his eyes look like they’re glowing, but they do seem oddly bright.

“Not really sure what makes a nice Jewish boy,” Rey says slowly, “But you’re being nice to me.”

Ben nods.

And it feels like something’s beginning.

 

-

 

Rey’s not sure what she expected, really.  

Because it’s not like she’s disappointed he wants to take her on dates and stuff.  He is doing the woo-ing thing that her previous partners had all done, though he takes her to nicer restaurants.  He has a devastating smile, it turns out, and when he hugs her—kisses her—goodnight, there’s something about being in his arms that makes her wonder how she’d ever felt unwanted.  

Because it’s clear that Ben wants her.  He always pulls away from her right as things are getting hot and heavy, but she gets the sense that that’s because he’s overwhelmed.  He’s not used to feeling wanted either.

But sometimes it feels a little bit off.  And she wonders if it’s because she spent several months objectifying him before she’d gotten to know him, gotten to see the way he pairs his stubborn, forceful determination with a vulnerability that makes his eyes go so soft.  She’d been imagining his tongue inside her long before she’d thought of the words he might say to her, the stories he might tell her about his parents, his uncle, how Snoke got in his head and how sometimes he still hears his voice there, even though he and Snoke have nothing to do with one another anymore.  

“Do you feel unsatisfied?” her therapist asks, steepling her long fingers in front of her, her brown eyes so  _ huge _ behind those bottle cap glasses.

“I feel—” Rey begins and then there are tears in her eyes again.  “I feel dishonest. But not with myself, this time. With him.”

“Well,” Maz says gently, “I think you know what you have to do, then.”

And she does.

 

-

 

“I’ve spent the last few months imagining you as I masturbate,” Rey tells him one day.  They’re walking through the park, and the summer sun is warming her skin and making her brave and she is so afraid he’ll hate her for this, that he’ll think she’s disgusting, horrible, and that he’ll leave her behind like her parents.

There’s an infinitesimal pause in his pacing before he keeps walking.  “I’m assuming you mean before we started dating.”

“Yeah,” she says.  “Before.”

“From before or after I left Galaxies?”

“Before,” she says.  Now he really does pause.  He turns around looking somewhere between surprised and intrigued.  She refuses to break the gaze. He hasn’t run away screaming which is a good sign, but she’s still on edge.

“What sorts of things?” he asks her at last.

“What do you mean?”

“Like was it sweet nothings or—”

“You fucking my ass, mostly,” she says and his eyes go wide and he blanches.  “Some other stuff too, but mostly that. It wasn’t really—not really sweet nothings.  I—” God fucking dammit, why does she always cry when she gets even the slightest bit emotional?  Why?

“You don’t let yourself hear sweet nothings,” he says, taking a step towards her.  “Because fundamentally you don’t believe that anyone could mean them, because of your shitbag fucking parents.”

She swallows.

Right.  

They’ve talked about this.

A lot, actually.

“So it’s easier to imagine me fucking your ass than that I might be in love with you,” he continues.

“I mean, a lot of this was before we started dating,” she replies.  It feels like the air in her lungs is moving differently than air usually does.  She takes a step towards him and reaches a hand up to play with a loose thread on his t-shirt.

“Is it still easier to imagine me fucking your ass than that I might be in love with you?”  

He has this brutal way of asking questions, as though daring her to lie.  It’s annoying, it’s terrifying, but it also forces her to keep being brave with herself, with him.  Because part of why she’s been in therapy so intensely is how badly she can lie to herself sometimes.  He keeps her honest. And she keeps him honest. 

“I think it’s more that I’m starting to imagine you fucking my ass because you’re in love with me.”

And he groans, his eyes rolling into the back of his head, his arms coming to wrap around her and pull her against his chest.

 

-

 

She honestly didn’t expect the conversation to lead to them taking off their clothes.  She’d been thinking too much that he might run away from her to think that he might run towards her, but they end up back in her apartment and it’s the first time that their clothes are off and Rey’s brain—already flooded with catharsis, sort of goes blank when she sees his chest for the first time.  His skin is smooth—somehow it doesn’t surprise her that he waxes his chest—and so very muscled that she almost forgets to take off her own shirt because she’s staring at him so much.

He pants into her mouth when he kisses her, his fingers stroking the skin by her ears, his chest hovering just over hers, enough that the heat of him ghosts over her breasts.  This time, he doesn’t pull away when he’s overwhelmed. This time, he pulls her closer, pulls her in.

“This good?” he asks her as he kisses his way down her stomach and begins unbuttoning her shorts.

Rey can’t really form words, though.  Words would mean that she’s prepared for all this—which, given how much she’s imagined him fucking her—she should be.  But it turns out that masturbation and sex with Ben aren’t the same thing at all. Not even close. 

He’s bigger than in her mind’s eye.  He’s more solid. His skin is warmer.  As he tugs her shorts down her legs, he has to brush his hair out of his face so that it doesn’t get in the way of—

“God you have no idea what I’ve thought about,” he murmurs, stroking a finger along her slit.  She shivers. 

“Oh?”

“No clue.”

“I think I might have some ideas,” she says.  “If my own thoughts are—”

And his lips connect with her cunt and she mewls, actually mewls because his tongue is warm and strong and flexible and he seems to actually know what he’s doing with it, unlike her previous sexual partners.  “Ben,” she chokes out, “Fuck.”

_ Fuck _ because no vibrator’s ever felt like his tongue, the hot gusts of breath against her skin, the way he hums with delight, the way he slides into her and curls up and strokes her.  He doesn’t seem to mind how thick the hair is around her sex, either, unlike the last partner who’d done this. His hands are holding her thighs, spreading her wide and when he pauses to catch his breath, he looks up at her.

“No idea,” he replies.  “You have no idea how much I love you.”

And his lips are back on her cunt and his words ring through her head, over and over again, like bells ringing in time with the waves of her climax as she comes.

“Were you imagining sweet nothings?” she asks him as she catches her breath and the look he gives her speaks louder than any words he could say out loud.  

“Yeah,” he says.  “From the first time I saw you, yeah.”

Rey blinks back tears.  “I don’t know what to say,” she whispers.  “It makes me feel—”

“Don’t—” he cuts her off.

“Don’t what?”

“I know what you’re about to say and don’t.”

“You don’t know what I’m about to say.”

“Look, just because you’re not drunkenly spouting your internal monologue for all the world to hear doesn’t mean I’m not going to know what you’re going to say.  I know you pretty well at this point. And don’t you dare go feeling fucking guilty for imagining kinky sex when I was sitting there moping for romantic connection.”

She flushes.

Because that was what she’d been about to say.  

“I don’t suppose you realize that learning that you went straight for anal might be one of the things I  _ like _ about you, do you?” he says, rolling his eyes.  “Because you always go for what you want, Rey. When you’re not too locked in your head thinking about what you deserve.  Which is the world, by the way.” He looks so affronted on her behalf that she almost wants to cry. Or laugh. Or hold him.  She’s not sure what.

“Do you want me to fuck your ass?” he asks her, sitting up and good lord, his abs when he’s hunched over like that.  He has an eight-pack. No matter how ridiculous her mind had always been about supplying him a form while she’d been jerking it, she’d never been so ridiculous as to give him an eight-pack.

“Do you want to?”

That smirk should be illegal, she decides.  Especially when he’s sitting between her legs, just having licked her to oblivion and back and telling her he loves her.  

“There’s lube in the bedstand,” she tells him and he grins and leans over, his torso stretching on for days as he pulls one of the drawers out.

“Damn.”

“What?”

“That’s quite a collection of toys.”

Rey shrugs, trying not to grin.  He sounds impressed. “What about it?”  

“I hope I get to play with them sometime too,” he says as he pulls himself back to his knees, the bottle of lube in his hands.  

“I think we can make that work,” she says, stretching her arms up over her head and shifting her hips.  “How do you want me?”

His eyes drip lazily over her before lifting back to her face.

“How have you masturbated?” he asks her.  “When you’ve imagined it?”

“On my back,” she says, “but mostly because I was also using a vibrator.”

He nods.

“How do you want me?”

She sits up and kisses him.  “I want you,” she whispers into his lips.  

He swallows and kisses her back down onto her back, kisses her long, and slow and deep.  She pulls him as close as she can and feels the bulge in the jeans he hasn’t taken off yet.  She reaches a hand down between them and fiddles with the button and slides her hand into his pants and—

He’s thick, and hot, and his breath stutters the moment she wraps her fist around him.  His lips leave hers and his head bows forward and he breathes while she pumps him slowly.  His skin is so soft, and feels so delicate compared to how thick and stiff he is. 

When he does lift his head, his eyes are determined.  He kisses her one more time then pulls away, grabbing the discarded bottle of lube and tilting her hips and knees up.

It feels different when it’s his fingers coating her with lube, when it’s his fingers probing into her.  They’re thicker and she doesn’t have any control over them, though she knows he’d stop the second she voiced any discomfort.  But any discomfort she feels is secondary to the way her heart is racing as he works on stretching her out, easing first one finger, and then two into her, lubing her up again, readying her for what comes next.

And what comes next is the crown of his cock pressing against her ass, his eyes blazing down at her as he drops his head down to kiss her.  What comes next is his groan into her lips, the way he’s shaking sort of as he pushes into her, the way she’s gasping and clutching at his shoulders because he feels so big—so so big, this stretch is divine.  And when his hips start to move back and forth, what sweet build, what sweet relief as her muscles clench around him.

She clings to him, her legs splayed, her hips tilted up.  He’s pressing her into the mattress, his chest to hers, his lips moving from her neck to her cheek to her lips to her forehead.  His eyes are screwed up and he pauses sometimes as though trying to think of words to say to her before groaning and pumping into her again.  And in and out he slides—she can feel him through her pelvic muscles, can feel herself dribbling a little bit onto his cock, adding her own moisture to the lubrication.

The sounds of their breath fill the room, her panting his name, him groaning inarticulately.  Pressure builds, but it doesn’t break, and the deeper he goes, the more she wants.

It’s her own fingers that reach down between them to find her clit.  She circles it in time with his moving hips and feels more wet seeping from her and Ben gasps through the side of his mouth and bites lightly into her shoulder blade and a moment later she’s whimpering and coming.

It’s like that first time she’d come thinking about him—where she comes harder than she’d ever come before.  It’s like that. That strange feeling that the world has gone still, that the world exists only in her pumping heart, her clenching cunt as she fumbles fingers inside her to give herself something to grip.  The world exists, she thinks. It must exist because she exists, and Ben does too. Ben’s gone very still, groaning out another  _ fuck _ and collapsing forward onto her as she rides the waves out.  He doesn’t move until it’s over, and slowly he slides out of her.  

“I could feel that,” he whispers to her.  “The way your—the other side—I could—”

He rolls over onto his back and stares up at the ceiling and Rey feels suddenly cold.  She’d gotten used to the warmth of him and curls over on her side, pressing herself against him, nipping at his neck until he turns his head to kiss her properly.  

“Good?” he asks her at last.

Rey hums because she doesn’t think she can form words just yet.  He smiles that devastating smile of his, and wraps his arms around her, curling up so that his knees are nudging under hers.  

“Thanks,” she says at last.   _ For making my dreams come true, for loving me. _

“Definitely filing that one away for later,” he says, his eyelids fluttering shut, a contented smile on his face as he squeezes her a little closer.

And Rey can’t help herself.

“You can file under A.  For anal.”

 


End file.
